A Bend in the Stars Page 3

  “Are you ready?” Vanya asked. Miri hadn’t heard him coming. She startled and he took up the knife, set to slicing the rest of the bread. “You’ll save him. I know it,” Vanya said as he slid a thick piece onto Baba’s plate, then one onto Miri’s before serving himself.

  “Is your lecture ready, Vanya?” Baba asked.

  “I’m not teaching. I told you last night. I’m going to the hospital, with Miri. To watch.”

  “No,” Baba said. “Positions for Jewish professors are few and far between, and Kir will be looking for anything to hold against you. You can’t afford to go to the hospital.”

  “Kir would never cut me loose. Today is for my sister.” He paused. “But I’ll bring notes. And I won’t cancel yet, just in case I can still make it in time.”

  “It’s better you don’t cancel at all. Going today could hurt your sister’s chances. And the fishmonger’s.”

  “How?”

  “By turning this all into a spectacle.”

  “Isn’t it already a spectacle?” He reached for the envelope. “When did this come?”

  “Ten minutes ago,” Baba answered. “Did you hear me tell you to go to the university?” Miri stopped listening while Baba and Vanya went back and forth. Instead, she tried to imagine the surgeon’s scalpel in her hand, each step she’d take. After she’d pictured the final suture, she pushed her chair back and headed for the door. Vanya scrambled behind her, stuffing the letter from America and a page of half-made lecture notes into his pocket.

  “I have a good feeling, Mirele,” he said as they walked outside.

  On a normal day, Yuri picked Miri up in a horse-drawn taxi. He’d stop in front of Baba’s house, step down in a starched suit, with his creaking shoe, and offer his hand to help her climb inside. But last night she told him she’d rather walk. The fresh air would help clear her mind. And so she took a deep breath and started down the street with her brother. The sun had just broken out over the city and glinted off rooftops and windows, making her squint. The smell of sewage and waste wafted from the gutters.

  Baba’s home was situated in the center of Kovno, on a hill that was uniformly drab, carpeted in gray stones that formed the sidewalks, streets, and squares. Faded row houses wove together in jagged lines and severed at haphazard intervals. But if Miri looked up, beyond the gray, there was a sweeping view of the city’s borders that stood in gorgeous contrast. Two rivers converged in Kovno, and their waters nurtured the forest, framing the city in shades of emerald. Kovno was Russia’s gateway to Europe, a cosmopolitan melting pot. It was said that Czar Nicholas, and his father before him, believed that if Kovno fell, they’d lose their empire, and so they spared no expense on battlements. Protruding from the lush outskirts, on one side, past the factories, were massive forts, the railways that supplied them, and quarters for the soldiers that manned them. On the other side was the suburb of Slobodka, where most of Kovno’s Jews lived. Its wooden hovels were angled into the overgrown forest and looked as if they were drowning in mud, a sinking reminder of the life the Abramovs had been lucky to escape.

  When Baba moved to Kovno, from Odessa, she was young and a fierce believer that Jews could live in modernity, in peace, next to Russian neighbors—and she wasn’t afraid to share that view. Her eloquence attracted attention and helped her gain favor in the Jewish community, especially among those who believed the same. Her ability to make anyone comfortable, to pry secrets, and to keep them to herself helped her rise. A steady stream of mothers and grandmothers flocked to her. She never judged. She never gossiped about babies being born less than nine months after a wedding, or broken hearts that needed to mend. She accepted people for who they were and was rewarded for that with the house and presents that kept her far from the slums she had been so eager to escape. There’s nothing wrong with enjoying luxury, she warned her grandchildren, so long as you remember it can all disappear faster than it arrived.

  Miri and Vanya passed soldiers on patrol on every block. “Let’s walk faster,” Miri said.

  “Speed won’t help us escape them,” Vanya said, nodding toward a pair with guns slung over their shoulders. “The overarching fact is war is coming. That means we don’t have a future here in Russia. It’s too dangerous for Jews.”

  “Even if I wanted to leave, I can’t. None of us can. We don’t have papers.”

  “I’m working on that.”

  “With your American?” Miri shook her head. “He’s been promising for too long for me to believe anything. Besides, I’ve told you. My patients need me.”

  “Mirele, if this war comes, life will be worse for us Jews than it will be for Russians.”

  “Vanya, please.”

  “You’re scared. I understand. Mama and Papa died going to America. That doesn’t mean we will. We must take that chance. It’s what they wanted.”

  Miri pointed to Vanya’s pocket, to the envelope she’d seen him stash before they left. “What does he want? You usually tear into his letters right away.”

  “I haven’t had a chance to read it. I—I wanted to wait.”

  “For what?” The tram clacked. Its metal wheels groaned. Vanya said nothing as he and Miri slid into an alley where it was darker but not crowded, a shortcut to the hospital.

  IV

  Two nurses met Miri and Vanya the moment they set foot inside the dark hospital. By the way they pounced on his sister, Vanya deduced they’d been waiting for some time and were as anxious about the surgery, about Sukovich, as Miri. The fishmonger was the fourth Jew beaten that month because of his religion. He was injured far more severely than the others, but surely the nurses suspected, like Vanya, that with war on the horizon, more would come. They took his sister by the arm and led her through the maze of corridors while Vanya trailed behind. Like the rest of Kovno, the Jewish hospital was made of gray stone, with heavy walls no amount of plaster could seal. Cold air seeped through cracks. But whereas other buildings were decorated with cornices and pillars, this hospital was plain. No benefactors wanted to waste money on design. Every kopeck went toward function and care, and so the building was constructed as a square with identical squares nested inside, creating wards and hallways all cut at ninety-degree angles. There wasn’t a soft curve in the building.

  The nurses ushered Miri into the small kitchen off the women’s ward, Miri’s office, leaving Vanya to wait in the hall while she changed. As soon as he was alone, he pulled out the envelope from America, from Professor Eliot of Harvard University. They’d been corresponding for two years, since Vanya’s publication in which he’d challenged the German-Swiss physicist, Albert Einstein.

  Einstein, a Jew himself, had been a young patent clerk about Vanya’s age when he first published a string of papers outlining brilliant new ideas about the laws of physics and the speed of light—and how they affected time. Soon, a critic, Alfred Bucherer, began to refer to Einstein’s work as “the theory of relativity,” and the title stuck.

  Back then, nearly a decade ago, Vanya was a teenager, and he devoured Einstein’s work not only because his ideas were a leap forward from the foundations set by Galileo and Newton but also because they surpassed the work of his closer contemporaries, Michelson, Poincaré, and Lorentz. At first, most of the so-called experts dismissed Einstein. After all, the patent clerk wasn’t even able to secure a job as a professor, but those who took a closer look, like Vanya, understood Einstein’s principles were revolutionary, and he couldn’t keep himself away. Day and night he studied Einstein’s work.

  Then in 1909, as Vanya sat at the window in his room watching a storm savage Kovno, he realized something that would change his life. Wind rattled the shutters. Thunder rumbled up through the floors, and lightning struck two trees in the forest near the city. According to Einstein’s favorite demonstration of relativity, a person watching lightning strike a moving train from a platform, centered at the midpoint, might see two bolts hit the train at the same time, while someone sitting inside the moving train might observe the str
ike in the rear a split second later than the bolt hitting the front. Meaning, the same event that was simultaneous for one observer was not for the other. Vanya thought about this as he watched one of the struck trees fall, watched a wagon on the road speed up to get out of the way, only barely escaping the path of the trunk in time. Any slower, Vanya thought, and that poor man and his horse would be dead.

  That was when Vanya made the crucial connection. He jumped up, knocking books and papers everywhere. Of course! Einstein’s theory was based on objects moving at constant speeds—but that wasn’t an accurate representation of the universe. Some objects, like the wagon, were accelerating. Einstein’s theory wasn’t complete.

  A monstrous clap of thunder rattled the windows. Vanya bent to retrieve his notebook, and as he did, he realized something else. “Gravity,” he said, looking at the papers that had fluttered to the ground. Acceleration and gravity were both missing from Einstein’s work. He had only accounted for special situations—not for realities like the accelerating wagon—which meant Einstein hadn’t finished. Even more, it meant Vanya could work to complete the theory, a broader general theory that would be just as groundbreaking as the one Einstein had already proposed.

  Vanya plunged himself into the problem and soon discovered he wasn’t alone. Just three months later, Einstein published a paper in which he also declared his original theory was lacking, and by 1910, Vanya was spending every waking moment working through the details and implications of a general theory. Without realizing, he missed meals. And sleep. Baba and Miri prodded him to take better care of himself, but he couldn’t concentrate on his health—only on this idea that felt more powerful than any that had come before. An idea that changed the way the universe was understood because, Vanya discovered, it meant space wasn’t a flat plane. Space curved around the objects in it. That meant light didn’t travel in a straight line, rather it traced the divots created by the sun, the moon, and other matter.

  Light bends.

  How could Vanya prove it? He needed equations to describe it, to predict by how much it bent. And he needed physical evidence—like Einstein’s example of the train being struck by lightning—only it was more difficult to capture light bending. The only time to witness it was during a total solar eclipse. When the moon blocked the sun, its closest stars would be visible, and through a photograph he could capture it happening, measure it, and share it as his proof. The math would take time, but the photograph could be taken at the next solar eclipse, due in 1914. And while it could have fallen anywhere in the world, luck was with Vanya—it was due over Russia.

  Vanya worked tirelessly to garner support for an expedition, for funding and equipment to photograph the eclipse, but wasn’t able to raise a single kopeck. Vanya tried to console himself by arguing that math was his specialty, not photography, and so he filled notebook after notebook with his attempt at equations, but his math wasn’t working. Nor was Einstein’s. The patent clerk, now finally a professor, published a series of field equations he said calculated distortions in space according to general relativity. Many in the scientific community seemed to accept them—but Vanya felt Einstein’s math wasn’t much better than what they already had from Newton. And both Newton and Einstein failed when it came to calculating Mercury’s changing orbit, the ultimate test. Yes, Einstein was off by only minuscule amounts, but correct equations, ones that captured the truth, wouldn’t be off by any measure.

  Vanya published an article laying out his case that Einstein’s math was mistaken. Reactions were mixed. Those who’d already tried to discredit Einstein because of his religion, or because of what they thought was skewed scientific reasoning, continued to declare the entire theory of relativity worthless. Others called Vanya’s ideas desperate and self-aggrandizing, but Einstein himself published an article agreeing with Vanya. Even more, Einstein challenged Vanya and every other physicist in the world to a race. He wanted to see who could come up with the correct field equations the fastest—along with a photograph of light bending at a solar eclipse to check those equations.

  Not long after that, Vanya received his first letter from Professor Eliot. It was transcribed in careful Russian, by a translator. Eliot praised Vanya for his math and arguments, declared that he, too, was working to correct Einstein’s field equations, only he was getting nowhere. Perhaps they could share notes, work together? They started a correspondence, and by his third letter, Eliot announced the math was beyond him but he believed in Vanya. “Only two men in the world are capable of this,” Eliot had written. “You, dear Abramov, and Einstein.” Furthermore, since Eliot couldn’t help with the figures, he’d gone ahead to help with what he called the “easy part,” mounting an expedition to Russia, an expedition to witness and photograph the eclipse. They would be a team in which Vanya solved equations and Eliot provided photographs. He expected Vanya to meet him in Minsk for the eclipse and to join him at Harvard afterward. Harvard’s president had already approved a position for Vanya—so long as he came with the prestige of correct field equations and photographs. Vanya was elated. So was Baba. Russia was becoming increasingly unsafe for Jews, and she wanted to leave before Kovno turned into another Odessa. Back then, he had had sixteen months to refine his work. The eclipse was coming on August 21, 1914, and he knew he could solve the math by then and take them all to America.

  While Vanya toiled over the equations, dozens of other universities also announced expeditions to Russia for the eclipse—all set on beating Einstein. And while they all mustered equipment, none came close to the equations. Then came the rumble of cannons in the Balkans—war. One expedition was canceled after another. Eliot was the last holdout. It wasn’t until May that Vanya received the devastating letter announcing his Harvard funding had been frozen. After that letter, after Vanya recovered from the shock, he’d written to Eliot to ask if he was able to produce the field equations, would the offer to come to America, to Harvard, still stand. He hadn’t received a reply. Not yet. Not until this morning. And he hadn’t dared tell Baba he was worried because by now, she was set on leaving, convinced their lives depended on it. She and Miri fought about it often. Miri believed they still had a future in Kovno, a reason and an obligation to remain in their home—but Vanya sided with his grandmother. With war coming, with more Jews being beaten like the fishmonger, it was time to leave. Expecting bad news, he couldn’t bring himself to read the letter in front of her, didn’t want to admit he might have lost their way to safety. But now that he was alone, he tore the seal and ripped the envelope. The message was short.

  Dear Professor Abramov,

  I write with good news concerning our efforts. A professor from Chicago, Russell Clay, has vowed to use his own personal funds to secure equipment and mount an expedition to Russia. Riga is his target city. Bullets will not keep him away, Clay wrote in his announcement. He also shared that he hasn’t solved the equations. He’s focused solely on photographing the event. Even in the face of war…

  Vanya felt a jolt. It was incredible. Fantastic news. He only knew his hands were shaking because the paper fluttered. There were thirty-nine days remaining until the eclipse. Could he still have a chance to photograph it? Surely, Eliot wouldn’t send such a letter if it weren’t true, but why hadn’t Vanya heard anything about this Professor Clay? Could the American even put together the equipment and a team in such a short time? Vanya wanted to keep reading, there was more to the letter, and a long article included, but he heard Yuri coming from around the corner. If Yuri saw it, they’d argue about America again. Like Miri, Yuri didn’t want to leave, and Vanya didn’t want to get into it. Not today.

  He fumbled to put the letter back into his pocket as he heard Yuri approaching, his shoe creaking. To Vanya, Yuri had always seemed cold, but Miri said it wasn’t so. He gave affection when he meant it, not because it was expected as a part of good manners, she said. But Vanya thought his sister misunderstood. Yuri wasn’t restrained. He just wasn’t passionate the way she was—the way she de
served. Vanya was about to step forward from the shadows and greet Yuri when the letter slipped from between his fingers and fell. As he reached for it, he heard another older man approach. Another surgeon. “Dr. Rozen,” the man said. His voice was low and something in his tone told Vanya to stay back. Vanya watched from around the corner. The surgeon hobbled toward Yuri. Under his white coat, his suit was too large for his frame. He appeared to be shrinking inside the fabric. His eyes burrowed under so many wrinkles it was hard to tell if they were open or closed. Yuri himself was a vision in white, draped in a smock, with a mask loose around his neck.

  “Good morning, Doctor,” Yuri said.

  “Yes, yes. I want you to know, it’s a fine thing you’ve done.” The elder surgeon clapped Yuri on the shoulder. “You’re an upstanding man. You’ll make a fine officer.”

  “Shh,” Yuri whispered. Vanya froze, still in the shadows.

  “Why hide, Doctor? It’s an honorable thing you’ve done. None of your peers—not one of the other men in this hospital—was going to stand up to volunteer. We would have had to draw lots if not for you. An interesting condition, though, your request,” he chortled. “I know you’re in love, but tell me, truly, how can you think a woman would be up to the job?”

  “I’ve watched her work for years. She’s more than capable.”

  “Still, she’s a medusa who’s snared you. She may be well trained, but emotion will always cloud her judgment. She can never be as reliable as a man,” the elder doctor said. “Son, all gentlemen are ridiculous when it comes to women.”

  “Please keep your voice down,” Yuri said, sounding nervous.

  “You’re truly not going to tell her? You haven’t learned yet, but she’ll find out what you’ve done. Women have a way.” The elder surgeon continued, “Your sacrifice is admirable so long as she feels the same. With her ambition, who’s to say? At least the czar won’t send surgeons to the front. Only medics.”